


Cutting edge

by Reading_By_Torchlight



Series: Days before the Storm [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Gen, Pre Canon Era, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reading_By_Torchlight/pseuds/Reading_By_Torchlight
Summary: Enjolras tries his best to ignore his classmates mockeries but even the savage antinous has his weaker Moments. Fortunately, he has friends who are looking after him.Pre Canon Era, Boarding school





	Cutting edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a very dear friend](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=a+very+dear+friend).



> Hiya everyone,  
> I've had this typed up somewhere on my laptop for quite some time now but never got round to posting it.  
> Now, I finally have an excuse to do so! It's my friend's birthday today and I hope she has a lovely evening rewatching a certain film we both quite like :) What better way to celebrate a friend's birthday than with a nod to some of the loyalest friends in literature 
> 
> This one's for you, darling! Hope you enjoy! I love you<3

1820

He is fifteen years of age.

The scissors in his hand are heavy as he stands in front of the mirror in their dormitory. It is fortunate that the others are being forced to march the schoolyard by Professeur Martin this instant. He does not think he could face any of them right now.

“I am not weak, I am not a sissy!” he mutters to nobody in particular. Since when has he cared about what other people might say? He cannot fathom why Thomas’ chicanery has made him so angry. He only knows that it has. The scissors make a crunching sound right next to his ear as they meet a thick, fair curl. It falls into the basin, still one of the perfect little ringlets that Thomas likes to lampoon so much. “Madame Royale” he likes to call him. Objectively speaking, Enjolras cannot blame him as he looks down at the piece of hair. His cousin Catherine’s meticulously set rag curls couldn’t look neater.

He feels desperate. There is so much he wants to accomplish in life, however is he going to do all of that when nobody will take him seriously? When he looks up, there is a short strand sticking out amidst all the other long locks. It looks weirdly out of place. Angrily, he tries to blink away a tear that has made its way to the corner of his eye. That only makes him even more furious and he can feel hot, boiling anger burning in his veins; anger at Thomas who will not take him seriously, anger at the world unwilling to listen to what he has to say, but most of all, anger at himself. He does not cry. He does not-!

There is a loud bang as the wooden door meets the wall and on the threshold appears Courfeyrac, unable - as always- to enter a room quietly. It takes Enjolras a few seconds to grasp the picture that presents itself to him. Courfeyrac’s cheeks are reddened –more so than usually- and the buttons of his trousers are done up unevenly. In his hand, he clutches his copy of “Thérèse philosophe”.  Enjolras cannot help but raise an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?” he asks and just for one moment, the scissors in his hand are forgotten.

Courfeyrac plods over and hurls the book onto his bed. There is a twinkling in his eyes, just as usual.

“I could ask you the same, good monsieur. Seems you do not fancy taking part in the drills, either” he answers and grins at Enjolras. That smile he sends his way is so dazzling and carefree that Enjolras almost begins to forget why he is even standing in front of that mirror. Well, almost. Enjolras sees Courfeyrac’s gaze still as it wanders over his head before the other boys’ eyes drop down to his hands that are still clutching those big metal shears.

“Why, Enjolras, have you been cutting your hair?!” he cries and his eyes widen. Enjolras feels his cheeks heat up and begins to inspect the leather of his shoes. He does not want his friend to believe him to be so vain that he would listen to another student’s taunts and take them to heart. Although, if he is being honest, that is exactly what has happened.

He hears Courfeyrac step closer.

“Why would you do this? Never in all those three years that we have been sharing a dormitory have I seen you cut your hair! Not once.” Courfeyrac tries to make Enjolras look at him but he only averts his gaze. He cannot bear it, the ridiculousness of his own behaviour, the childishness.

But Courfeyrac won’t give up. He gets up onto his toes so that he may speak eye to eye with Enjolras and suddenly, all of that twinkling in his eyes is gone. Enjolras has never seen the other boy look so serious.

“Tell me” he says and puts his hands onto Enjolras’ shoulders –partly to give his words more meaning but partly, Enjolras reckons, to steady himself so as not to overbalance on his tip-toes. “I know, I am no Combeferre but you _can_ trust me. You always can”

Enjolras does not answer. He knows that he can trust Courfeyrac. He just isn't sure if he can bear the shame of telling self-confident Courfeyrac about his irrational motives. But he should have known better than to assume his roommate would not realise the reason for his behaviour. The one thing Courfeyrac excels at more than any other is reading people. He enjoys watching them, talking to them and it is no wonder he picks up on their ways easily. It is nothing for him to read acquaintances – how much easier still is it for him to fathom out his friends.

“Is this about what that _connard_ Thomas has said earlier?” He asks and Enjolras cannot help but give some sort of reaction, so he shrugs. “ _Putain_ , Enjolras do not listen to his foolish taunts! You never listen to anyone, why let him have that triumph now? You do not need to cut off your hair - you need to cut off your self-doubts!”

A smug grin spreads across Courfeyrac’s freckled face at his own cheap witticism. Enjolras lifts the corners of his mouth tiredly; he does not have the heart to tell the other boy how bad his puns can be.

“It is not just Thomas…” he begins and wants to slap himself for sounding so lachrymose and proving exactly the point Thomas has made. “I have been thinking. I want the people to listen, I want them to…however will anyone take me seriously when I look like a little girl!”

Courfeyrac looks like he wants to protest but thinks better of it. He seems to consider something.

“So you really want to cut it?” he asks and looks up at Enjolras. Enjolras nods without thinking. He does not care what his hair looks like, he cares about the number of people willing to listen and take notice of him.

“Well then, give me those!” Courfeyrac says, pointing towards the shears, and smirking. “You’ll only end up looking like a scare-crow if you do it yourself…”

He makes Enjolras put a towel around his shoulders and begins to hack at the golden strands. Soon, the stone floor is covered in his curls and Enjolras sits amidst them, feeling the falling hairs tickle his neck. Later on, he doesn’t remember how long the whole process took them but when Courfeyrac finally lets the scissors fall down to his feet and tries to gather the locks on the floor, the sunlight barely reaches their window anymore and he can hear the other boys entering the building after their drills. Courfeyrac folds the towel again. They have not said a word since he has made that first cut. There was no need.

His friend picks up that lewd book of his again and winks at him mischievously.

“I have a highly educational read to finish, mon ami!” he says. He is almost out the door again when Enjolras finally manages to find his voice again.

“Wait!” he calls, and Courfeyrac turns, looking at him quizzically. “Thank you, Étienne”

Courfeyrac’s face lights up as he smiles back at him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I love reading everyone's thoughts :D  
> Also, this will be part of series made up of moments of Enjolras' life.


End file.
